I Told You To Leave
by azqwest
Summary: A Derek and Mark one-shot. What if Mark was one of the many people trying to pull Derek from the woods? Rated T for cursing.


[After the parade of people coming out to the trailer to bring Derek back to SGH, I wondered how it could play out if Mark had made the trek out to the woods. Mark claimed he came to Seattle to get Derek back, and I couldn't imagine this fight - Derek's breakdown - breaking up the bromance. As much as I wish I owned these two, I don't.]

"You're an ass. A goddamn ass."

Eyes closed, his body aching and still, Derek didn't react to the scratchy, bitter voice disturbing his solitude. He had settled into a deck lounger, and shut his eyes against humanity, and the glittering stars in the night sky. Each representing a folder on the conference room table. Death stars. As far as he could see, stretching over the sound and the city. Over his land. Over Seattle Grace. Too damn many of them.

"Get the fuck out of here Mark before I kick your ass again."

Mark held up a finger. "One. You didn't kick my ass. You never could." A second finger came up. "Two. I'm tired of you swinging at me for crap in your life." A third finger followed. "Three…"

"Considering you're responsible for the crap in my life Mark, you don't get to complain." Derek kept his eyelids closed, denying Mark's presence on his turf.

"Don't lay that shit at my door. I'm sorry I slept with Addison. I'm sorry I did that to you. That we did that to you." Mark climbed the few stairs to the deck, sweeping up Derek's nearly empty bottle of tequila and seating himself on the edge of the other lounger. "But with Lexie, I have nothing to apologize for."

"Can't you keep your manwhoring dick away from the women in my life?"

"She's not even your half-sister sister-in-law. She's nothing to you." Mark brought the bottle to his lips. He grimaced at the burn of the tequila hitting his throat. "It's not what you think it is, and it's none of your business."

"She's…" the echo of his words from a few nights ago came back, along with the sound of metal connecting with wood. The hard shake of his head momentarily, and painfully, dislodged them. "I told you to stay away from her."

"I tried." Mark held the bottle out to Derek. "I really, really tried."

The sound of liquid sloshing in the near-empty bottle managed to pry open his weary eyelids. Carefully shifting his head, Derek noted the bottle dangling from Mark's hand. The bruised and grazed knuckles were visible in the low wattage deck lighting. Grabbing the glass bottle, Derek hugged it against his chest, his lifeline in shutting out everything to reach the numbness getting him through each day, and each night.

"You look like shit, Derek. I don't think I've ever seen that much fuzz on your face." Mark carefully considered the remains of his best friend littering the lounger. What a mess. "My God, you've got more hair on your chin than you do on the top of your head."

"Just…go."

Mark couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Derek in such bad shape. This Derek easily topped the post-Meredith's-near-death-in-the-Sound Derek. The sweatpants and sweater ensemble looked too grungy even by Seattle standards. He'd hate to put the stains under a microscope. "Is that…sauce on your sweater?"

Derek didn't want to be reminded of the left over pizza he stole from Meredith's refrigerator after packing up his belongings. It had been her breakfast. He didn't think twice about grabbing the box as he swiped Alex's six-pack of beer. That's what he got for bitching about the cereal. "Fuck off Mark. I mean it."

"No you don't." Mark swung his legs onto the lounger and settled back against its upright back. He still didn't know why he came out here. His hands and face still ached from the fight. A reminder of his every right to be pissed off at Derek, who deserved to wallow in the self-pity party he was having. But at the end of his shift, his car somehow turned in this direction instead of toward Lexie.

"Yes, I do." The squeak of the lounger told Derek Mark planned on making himself comfortable. He planned on staying. "This is the last time I'm saying this. Get the hell out of here." He knew his words lacked any real heat, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was tired, sore, in all kinds of pain, in need of a hot shower, his bed and another bottle of tequila. He sipped from the bottle. The burn was an old friend. He could understand why this was Meredith's drink of choice.

"As much as I want to finish your beat down, and you don't know how much I really want to do it, I can't." Mark forced his clenched fist to relax. The urge to swing at Derek's battered face was strong, but he pushed it down. Giving in to it wouldn't bring him satisfaction. At least not anything long lasting. "For some reason, I can't leave you alone out here stinking up the woods. Although I'm pretty sure you chased off all the animals." The nighttime silence made him uncomfortable. He wasn't a nature boy like Derek, but he was pretty sure there should be at least one nocturnal animal running around the woods.

Derek's lack of response pulled more words from Mark. They fell awkwardly from his mouth. "Look, I get that my timing sucked. It was the wrong time to tell you about us. And I'm sorry you lost a patient…"

"I didn't lose her."

The words were low, almost non-existent. "I thought your patient died?"

"She did. But I didn't 'lose' her. I killed her." Derek tightened his hold on the bottle. It barely held a few more sips of tequila, and he'd be damned if they'd go to Mark. "My actions killed two people. A mother and her child."

Mark sighed. He had forgotten about the baby. "Your record…"

"Is sitting atop a conference room table in two stacks. One stack is taller than the other, and you don't have to guess which it is. I'm a murderer." Derek hated the word, but he couldn't get away from it. It now owned him. "Better yet, I'm a serial killer. And I'm done. I don't want to kill anymore."

"You're not a serial killer. You know it's a crapshoot every time we walk into the OR. Where in the hell did you get the idea that life is a guarantee? That you guarantee life? We can't promise life. We can't guarantee it. All we can do is give it our best shot."

"My best guarantees death. Death and destruction. And I'm tired of it." Derek sat up, ignoring his head's hatred of any kind of movement. He ran a shaky hand over his beard. "And I'm tired of you."

"Tough."

"Give up Mark." Derek emptied the tequila into his mouth. "I did." The empty bottle landed in a pile of empty beer cans. Surprisingly the glass didn't shatter against the stack of aluminum. Slowly Derek pulled himself up from the lounger. His muscles were stiff from prone position his body had taken for the past twelve hours. And his head didn't appreciate its newly elevated position, hovering six feet up in the air. But there was one more bottle in the kitchen. And it was his.

"I think you've had enough." Mark left his lounger, positioning himself between Derek and the trailer door.

Derek stepped up to Mark, going toe-to-toe with him. "How the hell do you know what I'm going to do and why do you think you can stop me?"

Mark's nose wrinkled in reaction to the distinct distillery smell emanating from Derek. "Because you've been swimming in booze the past week, and you don't look like you're heading inside for a shower. Because I'm bigger than you." Mark stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "And because I don't want to explain to your mom how you died of alcoholic poisoning."

Derek's chest rose and fell in what might have been a chuckle. "Hell, that's easy. I have to explain to her how her ring ended up lost in my woods."

"The ring she gave you to give to Meredith is out in the woods somewhere?" Mark leaned back against the door. He couldn't fake his look of confusion. "How in the hell did you do that?"

It was out there somewhere along with his hopes and dreams of Meredith. He ceased wishing for a way to block the memory of Meredith's face as his ugly words hit her, as he swung the baseball bat and connected with the symbol of his love for her. The next day, he had grabbed the evil piece of wood, and tossed it as far as he could into the water. The splash it made would never make up for his homerun swing. He deserved the memory of her expression forever etched into his cortex. Derek was unaware of moisture filling his bloodshot eyes. "You don't want to know."

The grief in Derek's face surprised Mark. It managed to push aside all thoughts of their fistfight. Moving to open the door to the trailer, Mark motioned for Derek to go inside. "I'm not sitting inside this sardine can listening to your tale of woe while you reek of stuff I don't want to think about. Go hit the shower and I'll make coffee."

Derek brushed at the wetness on his face. Surprised and embarrassed, he stumbled past Mark and through his door. "I told you to leave."

"Yeah, you did." Mark followed Derek inside, closing the door in their wake.


End file.
